Time is Parchment
by Jenon Rudaiger
Summary: Time is parchment. It can be written upon, mutilated, burned, honored, forsaken, or destroyed. What occurred in the past is recorded on that fragile fabric, but can that knowledge be erased? Thus is a tale of life, death, fate, and yes, love. TRHG
1. Chapter 1

It was the night of the invasion, and many were gathered in the hospital wing, hovering about Bill as Madame Pomfrey aided to his wounds. The lot of them were waiting, discussing the occurrences of the night. Hermione Granger was among them; still feeling the effects of the Felix Felicus Harry had given to her prior.

The group of people became silent as Ginny led Harry into the crowded wing. She spoke, her voice faltering," He's… he's dead."

Hermione hesitated, "Who?"

Ginny looked cautiously from Harry to Bill, " Dum—Dumbledore."

Suddenly there were collected gasps and a couple screams. Ron silent mouthed the word, "no", as Lupin fell into the chair beside Bill, placing his hands across his face and willing gentle tears to fall from their place.

Hermione also felt tears descend slowly from her face. She did not care to wipe them. The man who had been a pillar to the order for so long, the only man _he_ ever feared. He was dead.

She heard a voice from her right, "How?"

Harry swallowed, "Snape killed him. He said the curse, the _Avada Kedavra_."

Hermione muttered to herself, " But… Dumbledore trusted Snape."

Hermione suddenly felt the awkward inclination to leave the hospital wing. She

quickly excused herself from her place, gave Ron a peck on the check, and walked out into the deserted halls.

"To the Room of Requirement," a sudden thought spoke to her mind. Hermione did as the potion compelled her. She ambled casually through the castle, her ears beginning to hear the cry of the phoenix. The sixth year walked past the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy thrice. She was barely able to see through the thick fog that surrounded the passageway, the remnants of the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder Draco and his crones had used.

"I need someplace where I can think," she thought, " Somewhere where I can do something beneficial to aid in this war, so all these deaths are not in vain."

She spoke, " I need… something."

Hermione gently pressed her weight against the door. She was stunned when she found the room devoid of everything except one object. In the right corner of the room she found a small chain attached to a medallion, light shone upon it as a beacon. She placed it into the palm of her hand and read the word around the rim, _vicis est _membrana. Hermione hesitated for a moment, but placed the chain of silver around her neck.

With that she felt an uncomfortable lurch from her stomach as her world turned black. She was blind, and in ever so much pain. Her insides were twisting in the most uncomfortable manner, and her wand arm are felt a shocking jab, as if fire was burning inside her very bone. Her screams were left unanswered, as no soul could hear her in the hidden room. Hermione was on the ground, shivering as her cold limbs felt the tile beneath her. Her pain gradually subsided as her consciousness faded.

**

* * *

Hogwarts castle- 1944**

Tom Riddle was patrolling the castle's halls as was expected, he was a prefect after all. He had recently frightened a couple of second years Gryffindors as he caught them planning to cast several jinxes upon a Slytherin third year. Their attempt was rather crude, in his opinion.

"Petrificus totalus?" He thought, and then laughed. A banishing charm would have been much more entertaining.

Tom continued on his way up the staircase to the seventh floor.

"Just three more days," he thought to himself, " Three more days an I'll be rid of my bloody muggle father."

He had been planning this murder for months. He was to visit his father's town of birth, in Little Hangleton. There he would find the Riddle Mansion, or so it was called. This would be far too easy, as having turned seventeen in late December the ministry no longer tracked his use of spells. Tom felt a slight smirk come to his lips.

Tom turned as the hall directed him, passing a delicate and detailed man-sized vase.

His eyes slightly widened as he saw a crumpled body in black robes across of the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. His walk quickly became a run as he sprinted down the hallway.

Tom kneeled down to see the slumped figure in greater detail. She was rather pretty in a way. Her face was small and narrow, her eyes closed peacefully in a deep slumber. Her only detriment was the mass of uncontrollable hair, which lay unkempt about her head. Tom moved his fingers around the girl's neck, feeling her weak pulse as it moved slowly from beat to beat. His hands got slightly tangled with the chain around her neck.

"You'll be okay," Tom muttered, as he lifted the light body into his arms. He walked towards the nearest flights of stairs, lengthening his pace as he continued. Her body was so cold…

Tom eventually reached the hospital wing, where he placed the girl atop one of the beds. He quickly raced to the headmaster's office, where he gave the password and spoke, " Headmaster Dippet, I need you assistance."


	2. Chapter 2

"Where am I?" was the first thought that struck Hermione when she aroused. She could feel the warmth of the sun, its rays peering past the stained windows of glass. She opened her eyes and uttered a slight gasp. The light she had felt must not exist. Her sight was black, only darkness and shadows. Hermione felt fine with the exception of the constant throbbing of her wand arm.

"My wand," she spoke, "Where is it? Accio."

She felt the familiar piece of wood rise to her hand, knobs and imperfections recognizable by the user.

"Lumos," she whispered.

No change occurred whatsoever in the room. Hermione was slightly frustrated. "How was it that she was unable to perform a simple spell of beginner's magic?" she thought to herself. She attempted again.

"Lumos." Hermione said, slightly louder.

The room remained a dark as ever. Hermione was turning rather livid as her wand seemed incapable of rendering the results sought. "Once more," she thought, trying to maintain some control but failing miserably.

"Lumos, dammit!" she exclaimed. She placed her hand over her wand's tip and felt the heat emitted.

Her mouth moved without her thought, "No…"

Hermione heard the gentle clang of footsteps. A voice from spoke from behind her, "May I be of any assistance to you, miss?"

The voice was rather familiar, maintaining a hard and distinguished, yet caring tone. Hermione turned around out of habit, "Yes, sir… could you tell me where I am?"

The voice responded," You are in the castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in the hospital wing to be exact. You were found on the in front of the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, on the seventh floor three days ago by one of our prefects."

Suddenly Hermione recognized the voice. Silently she was laughing. How could it have taken her that long to realize the person speaking to her was Dumbledore himself? However, her thoughts were contradicting. How could it be that he was alive?

"Professor Dumbledore," she questioned, "Is that you?"

"Yes it is."

Hermione inhaled rather quickly, "but professor, Harry said you were dead. He said Snape killed you. He and Ginny—."

"Shh…" Dumbledore gently cut her off," Your words would mean much more if you were to explain."

Hermione's mouth opened to a sudden gasp. Her mind was in a collective shock. For one thing, she was blind. Secondly, Dumbledore was not dead. Rather, he had no clue or anything relating to her words. She had been unconscious for three days, and no one was in the hospital wing, besides Dumbledore and herself. Ms.Weasley was not even present which was rather surprising, as Bill appeared incapable of being healed in any time less than three days.

Suddenly Hermione remembered the reason why she was in her predicament. She felt the bitter cold metal lay against her chest moving up and down as she inhaled, as if evil was relying on her every breath.

"Get it off me, dammit!" she exclaimed. With an abrupt movement she clutched the amulet, pulling it with all might as the chain continued to dig into the skin across her neck. Reason soon spoke as pain conflicted. Her small hands struggled to unhook the clasp behind her neck. She then felt rougher hand aid her in her struggles. Hermione silently thanked him as he took the medallion from her.

Dumbledore peered at the round piece of bronze as his hands traced across the numerous designs. "Vicis est membrana," he muttered, his eyes translating the words laced across the medallion, "Time is parchment."

Dumbledore stared at Hermione, judging before he spoke his words, "Miss…"

"Granger, "Hermione promptly replied, but in her mind she knew something was wrong. Dumbledore could not have forgotten her.

Dumbledore continued, "Miss Granger, do you recall the last day you were conscious?"

Hermione silently nodded.

"What was the date?"

Hermione was a bit confused, "May 23, 1997."

Dumbledore's jaw dropped slightly.

"That would explain it," he thought to himself.

"Miss Granger, I'm sure this will come as a bit of a shock to you, naturally it is only so, but… Miss Granger, what is your opinion of time travel?"

" I know it can be done," she stated," I used a time turner before, back in my third year –"

"But it only worked for increments of a few hours, did it not?" he questioned.

" Yes, sir."

His blue eyes of charm peered at the girl as if he was trying to see though her thoughts, " What would you say if I told you that today was not May 23, 1997, but rather May 26, 1944?"

"I'd—," her voice wavered, " I believe you."

Dumbledore tapped his wand against the bedside table twice," Very good. Now that we have that settled Madam Medias has yet to determine your condition."

"But professor," spoke Hermione, her body begrudgingly rising as her mind willed, "I am ready."

"I only wish you were…Miss Granger. We will leave this discussion for another day, in closed quarters. I have much that I need to tell you," He walked towards her once more and placed his hand atop her own, laying the medallion into her hand until she felt her own fingers clasp about the cold metal," Wear this at all times, the magic of the founders will protect you."

"This was created by the founders of Hogwarts?" she inquired.

"Yes, indeed it was. Now, as I said before, we will leave such matters for later." Professor Dumbledore turned towards the passageway and exited the wing.

Hermione lay awake with her head facing the ceiling, her thoughts reeling about the little information Dumbledore had recently divulged. The room was utterly silent. Hermione was entirely unaware that the room was occupied of other patients, the victims of the basilisk. She did not see their bodies petrified in their frozen state awaiting their unknown cure.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione waited patiently in the hospital wing to be guided towards Professor Dumbledore's office. She had been checked by Madam Medias tenfold, and was finally cleared from the hospital wing after much deliberation. Hermione sat upright in a rather uncomfortable chair, carefully brandishing her narrow cane of ebony.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione heard the voice, female by the sound of it. She recognized the faint clicking of heels as they hit across the wooden floor.

"Yes," she replied, "I'm right here."

The girl entered, her blonde hair shining by the radiance that passed through several windows. She was wearing traditional Hogwarts robes with some slight accents of blue; a badge was displayed proudly against the right side of her robes. About her neck lay a golden cross. Hermione waited until the shoes came nearer, then extended her hand. She felt another touch her own, forming into a slight grasp.

The girl spoke, "My name is Dorcas Meadows, prefect of Ravenclaw. I go by Dorrie, really. I'm to lead to you to professor Dumbledore's office?"

Hermione nodded, "Yes. I'm Hermione Granger."

They both ambled casually from the hospital wing with no major incident, passing several tapestries of immense beauty and detail as Dorcas sweetly hummed the tune of an unfamiliar song. The melody eventually ceased only to be replaced by an innocent question.

"What brought you here to Hogwarts at this time of year?"

Hermione felt her lips move, "I, uh…"

"Damn," she thought, "I wasted a week of my life doing absolutely nothing, and wasn't able to create even one simple lie. Where's Ginny when you need her?"

"I – My parents were killed by Grindenwald."

Dorrie's jaw slightly lowered in an unknowing shock.

"I'm sorry," were the only words she could muster. Dorcas lowered her head, as if to say a silent prayer. Seconds later she continued, "It wasn't my place to ask… I shouldn't have."

"But you did, and that's okay. Curiosity isn't a sin, but with it we should exercise great caution."

Dorrie's deep, brown eyes stared towards Hermione," I appreciate your understanding."

"As do I," spoke Hermione. She fiddled with her cane, as if she was unsure of how to change the topic. "Let's carry on, shall we?"

Dorcas nodded her head in compliance, resuming the notes of her unknown melody. They continued through the halls, walking past scattered groups of students in the rather empty passage. They traveled up several flights of staircases until Hermione heard a single phrase uttered from Dorrie's lips.

"Blood of Merlin…"

"What is it?" Hermione questioned.

Dorcas's hands were shaking, her heart pounding. The cautious song was replaced by a heavy breathing. A good few seconds passed until Hermione heard the words spoken by a controlled voice, "It's happened yet again… another student has been petrified."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. She ran towards the voice, only to trip over a body that lay sprawled against the ground. She felt the wet floor beneath, a single sigh escaping her lips.

Dorcas was peering at the fallen student, muttering the name _Matthias_ as tears gently escaped their lids.

Hermione was flabbergasted," You mean, _that_ beast is here, in this castle."

Dorcas nodded, only to remember Hermione could not see.

"Yes," she spoke.

"He'll be fine," Hermione muttered, "But we may not." Hermione knelt on the ground, thinking of what to do.

"What is the matter?" questioned Dorcas.

Hermione answered with a question, "you're muggleborn, aren't you?"

Dorcas responded, "Yes, but what has that got to do with anything."

Hermione suddenly remembered the days of her second year, when the presence of the basilisk had tormented her school, "Everything. Quick, have you got a mirror?"

Dorcas shook her head in confusion, "No, that I haven't."

Hermione spoke once again, "A glass, a camera, anything clear or reflective."

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

Hermione waited form a moment, her thoughts reeling. She felt her voice move, "then let

me lead you."

"What?" questioned Dorcas.

"The beast that roams the castle is a Basilisk. It is controlled by a student at Hogwarts, the heir of Slytherin, and attacks as its master bids. The basilisk is known to kill whenever it peers into the eyes of a person. However, when something interferes with that direct beam of light the power of death is deflected only to leave the victim petrified."

Hermione walked towards the boundaries of walls, feeling them generously as her feet continued to move her along." I've known this castle's walls since I was eleven," she spoke.

Dorcas could hardly believe what she was hearing, "what do you mean?"

Hermione lowered her voice to a tone that spoke her grave seriousness.

"I mean," she whispered, "your very life is in jeopardy if you do not place your trust in me." Hermione walked towards the wall, using her hands until she was they fell upon an immense sculpture.

"What are you doing?" questioned Dorcas, deeply baffled.

Hermione ignored her. Rather she spoke what her mind was thinking, "We are on the fifth floor, right? In front of the statue," she moved her hands to feel the deep creases of marble in the artwork beside her, "of Gregory the Smarmy."

"Yes," Dorrie responded.

Hermione felt a smile reach her lips, "let us then continue."

Hermione and Dorcas walked to the office in which later would reside Minerva McGonagall. Hermione lead rather cautiously, relying on both her walking stick and her familiarity of the castle. She had fallen only once by mistakenly placing her foot through one of the hidden steps placed inside the staircase.

"The password's butterscotch," Dorrie supplied. With that the chamber's door of modest proportion opened. Inside the room lay numerous texts and writings, and several delicate silver instruments were scattered throughout. The desk and other furniture were comprised of a deeply stained wood; burgundy was the color found repeatedly throughout the room. An immense bird of scarlet plumage stood resiliently against its perch. Standing towards a corner was Dumbledore, as if caught in a discussion between himself and the fragile instrument upon the end table.

Dorcas was the first to speak, "Professor, another student has been attacked. Matthias Sinistra, he's located on the fifth floor."

The transfiguration teacher responded to his student, " Miss Meadows, would you please inform the head of Ravencalw concerning Mr. Sinistra. You can use that mirror, he said, indicating the object Dorcas had been eyeing repeatedly."

"Thank you, sir," she spoke, unsure of how her transfiguration teacher knew what she had been thinking. She quickly exited the room, her thoughts bent upon her task.

Hermione heard the door close, and found her way to an empty chair," Professor, I must speak with you. It concerns these recent attacks."

"What is it that you wish to bring to my attention?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment," It's Tom… Tom Riddle opened the Chamber of secrets fifty years ago, I mean, he's opening it right now. He's controlling the beast that resides inside the chamber, a Basilisk. Professor, someone will die before the chamber is closed, before these attacks cease."

Dumbledore was staring intently towards the girl. His eyes peered through half-moon spectacles, his hands twisting around a feather that recently fallen from his beloved friend.

"All those people petrified, they can be restored by a mandrake draught. But professor, this is incredibly difficult. Those people…" She felt her voice drift until it entirely faded to a simple whisper, "I can't do anything to change history, can I?

Dumbedore looked at her carefully for a moment, then spoke," Hasn't your experience with the Time-Turner taught you anything, Hermione? The consequences of our actions are always so complicated, so diverse, that predicting the future is a very difficult business. As far as you are concerned the future is not a precedent. You may use your knowledge and your memories, but the future will not remain the same when and if you are ever enabled to return. That is part of the magic embedded in your medallion."

He continued, "According to legend the founders are to have created each a unique device prior to their deaths. Helga Hufflepuff is known to have created a rather ornate cup engraved and embellished with latent magic. That particular piece has proper evidence of its existence, unlike the others. Gryffindor is to have created a sword, Slytherin a locket, and Ravenclaw a medallion. This tale is laced in legend, but these words do have some truth hidden in the pages of time. I have several reasons to why your medallion is the one created by Ravenclaw."

Hermione placed her hands upon the chain, cautiously unhooking the clasp from behind her neck and bringing the piece of metal into the view of Dumbledore. He examined it once more.

"You see this?" he questioned, pointing towards some intricate figure wrought in bronze," That is the mark of herself, the opened eye."

Hermione held the piece of bronze in her hands, feeling her way to the design indicated, and exploring with her hands. She soon found another, "Here, the raven's claw."

"Exactly," Dumbledore replied, "And Ravenclaw is known for her great talent in wit and knowledge. Of the founders it would be her who could harness the power of time to such an extent, for it to be used when wizarding society would be in most need. It was she herself who created the room of requirement. These pieces entwine to form the most intricate of stories."

Hermione spoke, remembering of her past life, "Professor, where I came from there is a war occurring, much like the current war. People are fighting amongst themselves, purebloods and muggleborns. The ministry has only recently acknowledged the war is in existence. It hasn't reached the magnitude of the current muggle war, but many are dying. Volde-- I mean the leader of the opposition has created many alliances with the half-breeds. Giants, werewolves, vampires, they all have been rendered to his side after countless years of persecution form the Ministry of Magic."

"I found myself here only after _our_ side had been dealt a difficult blow. Our leader was recently killed by the orders of the Dark Lord, and a number of us were given minor injuries. Several of my friends and I were saved by sharing a bottle of Felix Felicus."

"Professor, why do you think I am here? To what purpose could I have been sent here?"

He thought for a moment, and continued, "You are here because Ravenclaw sensed inside your very soul something absent from all others. Her memory understood your being, your choices and actions. It is only you who could discover the true reasoning behind her choice. My guess would account as nothing."

"Fate be damned," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

Hermione coughed, "Er— nothing professor."

Professor Dumbledore turned towards his desk once more, gently touching a silver sphere that was delicately revolving on a spindle. He spoke," You are entirely right, you know. Fate ought not have any bearing concerning what should occur and what will occur. Over half of the prophecies in the department of mysteries have yet to be proven correct, and of those maybe so few are ever completed because the wrong ears heard them. They are, in essence, self-fulfilling."

Hermione nodded as comprehension began its birth. Fate was damned; it had no bearing on her future. She was able to choose, the future need not be the same as she recalled. 'So what must _I_ do?' she asked to herself. Her answer was frightening. _Tom… _

"Miss Granger, there are still other matters to discuss. You will be met by many awkward questions while you attend this school. 'Who are you?', they may ask, 'Why did you enter Hogwarts as a seventh year?' There is much we need to discuss."

"I've told both Madam Medias and Dorcas Meadows my name, "Hermione spoke, "My parents are to have died recently by the dark wizard Grindenwald, but Dorrie knows that I am familiar with Hogwarts and its grounds. She followed myself throughout the castle when I realized the Basilisk was still around. I— I was petrified during my second year."

Dumbledore was caught in his thoughts, "Miss Meadows can be trusted. You should be half-blood for your own safety as this war lacks much sympathy of your kind. Your mother was Linda Wulfric, a cousin of mine who died recently in this war. Your father…"

"John Granger?" Hermione supplied.

"Yes, that would make sense." Dumbledore concluded, "Your father was killed and home destroyed while you were attending a private school in Wales. The chain you wear ever constantly around your neck would be a family heirloom, perhaps?"

"Yes, it is," spoke Hermione, memorizing the story they were creating. Her thoughts were reeling. It was as if she had been swept into a time only read about, and the perils she had faced were exchanged with dangers of the same degree.

Dumbledore began to speak once more, "I'll need to work with my friends from the ministry to provide you with proper documentation."

Hermione nodded, and then asked a question that had been concerning herself for a while, "Professor, will I be resorted?"

The teacher stared at his student one again, "Yes, Hermione, but for now you ought to dwell in the room of requirement. The sorting is only to occur once a year and bending the rules would only arouse more suspicion. You are to remain here throughout the summer; you could aid me in preparations for the next year. "

"Now, let us introduce you to the students in the great hall." Dumbledore had gradually risen from his comfortable chair and begun walking towards the room's exit. However, before his hand had even met the door's handle, the entry opened to reveal a burly student of seventeen.

"Professor," he spoke, "there's been another attack. A girl has been killed."

"_Myrtle," _Hermione thought.

The room was awkwardly silent, be it Dumbledore's astonishment of the information he had just received or the fact that Tom had just recognized Hermione from the days before. Riddle regained his composure and continued, "Headmaster Dippet wanted me to inform all staff to meet him in his office. He also ordered all students to return to their respective dormitories."

"Thank you, Tom," responded Dumbledore. The prefect turned as though to leave, but teacher continued, "Tom, might I ask you to escort Miss Granger to the Slytherin dormitories, as she has yet to be sorted. I know it is a bit unorthodox, but given the circumstances.

Tom's eyes shone in the most inhuman of ways. "Yes, professor," was his reply.

Dumbledore exited the room, walking hurriedly through the halls. The bird of fire remained however, starring intently at the people still present in the his allies office.

"So, Miss Granger, are you ready?"

Tom didn't wait for her reply. He grabbed her wrist in an abrupt manner, forcing her to follow him.

Her breathing was growing quicker, her steps faster. Tom grasp had lowered slightly to the extent that he was now holding her hand, leading her throughout the castle's halls. She was initially repulsed by the thought that she was being led by the very man who had tried to destroy everything she had believed, the very man who had caused her best friend much anguish. She was led by the man who killed Albus Dumbledore, standing so close to him that she could kill him at any given moment. The man who had done so many things unforgivable…

Then a sudden thought struck her at that instant. _He had not yet committed those atrocities_. He had just completed his _first_ murder, the death of Myrtle.

"So, Miss Granger, who do you think is responsible for these attacks?"

"It's not Hagrid, if that's what you mean," she spoke, her blood suddenly boiling at the recollection that it was this man had destroyed her friends in so many ways.

Riddle couldn't stifle his laugh, "Yes, he would seem the type. Who would even want to protect him if he were accused?"

"Dumbledore," Hermione stated promptly, ignoring Riddle's touch entirely as it tightened under strain.

Riddle questioned, "Do you consider him a friend?"

"I trust him, if that's what you mean."

His voice grew darker, "No allies of Gryffindor are to enter the house of Slytherin. It is forbidden."

"Well, I believe the deputy headmaster has just decreed that tradition as fallible."

Tom sighed in defeat, "May that be. You are sworn not to tell anyone of the events to occur in the Slytherin dungeons, upon your very life."

Hermione couldn't help herself as a slight chuckle escaped her own lips, "Are you trying to threaten me, Riddle? You are by far lacking in that skill. I've faced more peril than that of a simpleminded teenager. I've looked death in the eye on countless occasions. Yes, I could see at one point in time. I've known what it was to be in love, and suddenly be thrust from the safety of their arms…"

She slid her hand from her guide, "More than you could say, Riddle? You have never felt love, or the pain of it. You've only felt its absence.

"You don't know who you're talking to." He muttered, his anger growing.

Hermione was pressing her luck, "What was that, Voldemort?"

His eyes widened in sheer terror, his voice and manner faltering, "What do you know?"

Hermione smiled as she had finally hit a nerve, "Everything."

She continued following him, tracing his footsteps against the stone floor. She shouldn't have said that, for now she was in danger of her life. He hadn't hesitated in the murder of Myrtle, what would stop him in the event of someone who knew everything about him, that he was in fact the heir of Slytherin, the person who opened the chamber?

Then she whispered to his ear, "I swear upon my life not to divulge any information I may find in the Slytherin dormitories of great consequence. I also swear to keep secret from this moment forth the fact that you are the true heir of Slytherin, and the fact that it was you who opened the chamber. There, Tom, your secret is safe."

He just stared at her as they reached the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. "Open," he muttered in parseltounge.

The door divulged, and the pair of them entered. Hermione felt the cold, muggy air present in the dungeon. She could almost hear the silence of the room, as if it was in itself a living presence, and for once in her life she could say she was not frightened of the Slytherin they called Voldemort, the man named Tom Riddle.


End file.
